Plain-Jane Princess. Karen Templeton

she twisted around and noticed the dogs. With a soft oh!, she dropped the bags and fell to her knees in one motion, burying herself in unbridled canine euphoria.

      Steve, on the other hand, was doing well to simply catch his breath.

      “Oh! Aren’t you the most wonderful things!” she said to the panting, licking creatures, laughing as each one in turn tried to crawl into her lap. After a moment, she hauled herself back up, wiping dog spit off her face with the heel of her hand as she took in the high-ceilinged entryway, the sunlight-drenched living room off to the left. She wasn’t exactly smiling as much as she simply seemed…pleased.

      “So—Mr. Liebowicz isn’t here?” she suddenly said, not looking at him.

      “Uh…no.” At some point, he was going to have to figure out why watching this overly cosmeticized, perfume-marinated, smart-mouthed stranger wallowing in dog slobber was doing all the wrong things to his libido. “He had to go to the store. He didn’t expect you until later.”

      She shrugged, but there seemed to be something oddly nervous about the gesture. “I wasn’t sure, when I talked with him, what my…schedule would be like.” She hesitated, as if about to say something else, then turned, picked up the bags again. “Do you know where my room is?”

      Eyes locked. Bad move.

      Bad, bad move.

      “Uh, yeah,” Steve said at last. “Upstairs.”

      She nodded, then clomped up the stairs, chattering to the dogs. Steve followed, frowning at the sea of undulating dog butts in front of him. “First door to your left,” he said when she paused at the landing. “What did you say your name was?”

      “Lisa Stone,” she said after a beat or two, then disappeared inside the room, followed by her entourage. “Oh…were you working in here?”

      “Oh, right.” Steve hustled inside the room and squatted to gather up his things, clanking them into the metal toolbox. “I’d just finished up when you knocked on the door. Since it sounded urgent—” he glanced up at her, fighting the urge to grin, not fighting the urge to tease “—I figured cleaning up could wait.”

      A blush swept up her neck. Then that generous mouth stretched into a breath-stealing smile that was completely at odds with the globbed-on makeup and the awful perfume and the hideous shoes. And something snapped between them. What, he didn’t know, didn’t want to know, but damned if the tension didn’t just evaporate.

      “I, um, didn’t realize I had to go until I got into the taxi.”

      One kind of tension, anyway. Another kind—more insidious and five times more deadly—mushroomed between them so fast he nearly choked.

      Ordering everything to back off, cool down, and generally get a grip, he stood, letting the grin win out. “Bet that was the longest ride of your life, huh?”

      Something like startled delight lit up her eyes before she laughed, and if he thought the smile knocked him for a loop, the laugh just about sent him into another realm entirely.

      Psst. And she likes dogs, too.

      Right. And maybe he should check his head for faulty wiring. For one thing, he had no idea who this woman was, where she was from, why she was here, or when she was leaving. For all he knew she was married. Or had a boyfriend. Or was on the lam.

      And the perfume was making him dizzy.

      And—and—for another thing, his life was more crowded than a Tokyo subway. He had kids to raise. Crises to avert. Gardens to tend and chickens to feed and about a million photos to develop and wounds to help heal.

      If his heart were a neon sign, it would be flashing NO VACANCY.

      Lisa was holding out her hand. “I do apologize for my earlier behavior. I get cranky when I’m overtired.” And Steve, not wanting to be rude, heaven knows, took her hand into his, grateful that—their brief, earlier tango notwithstanding—electricity didn’t shoot up his arm from her touch. That only happened in those books his sister used to hide in her sweater drawer, anyway. But it had been a long time since he’d held a woman’s hand in his, and he had to admit, it felt pretty damn good. Warm and soft and all that nice stuff.

      And, boy, did he like that smile.

      And, boy, did he have to get the hell out of there.

      “I thought I heard voices!” Panting a little, Mr. L. came into the room, extending a knotted hand. “Miss Stone, yes?”

      Lisa nodded, the feathers wafting around her face. One of those non-hairdos, like whatsername wore in You’ve Got Mail. “Thank you for taking me on such short notice,” she said.

      “It was my pleasure. The room will be suitable, I hope?”

      “Oh…” She looked around the sunny, airy room, nodding enthusiastically. “It will be perfect.”

      “And you won’t mind my music students?”

      “Oh, no! Not at all! I adore music, almost any kind, really…”

      Well, all this was just too copasetic for words, but Steve had other things to do with his life than just stand around and watch Lisa Stone grin.

      He picked up his toolbox, muttering, “I’ll just be going, then,” while backing out of the room, only to startle the be-jesus out of himself when he banged the box on the doorjamb. Chagrined, he steadied the box, then turned to leave before he gave any further demonstration of his poise and grace.

      “Mr. Koleski?” he heard behind him. Now, he knew damn well what would be there, when he turned around, waiting to trap him…yup. There it was. That smile. And a wistfulness—that’s what it was, he realized—that prevented the smile from fully reaching her eyes. She speared her hand through her hair, then said softly, “Thank you for playing the White Knight earlier.”

      He cocked his head. “Even though you didn’t need it.”

      An eyebrow lifted. “But that wasn’t the point, was it?”

      Oh, hell. No, that wasn’t the point. Nor did he have any intention of trying to figure out too hard about what the point was, because he doubted he was going to like what he came up with.

      “Hope you enjoy your stay,” he muttered, then left before she had a chance to toss another one of those smiles his way.

      She’d shooed the sweet old man out of her room shortly after Steve’s exit, citing the need to unpack and rest. And shower, rid her skin of that horrendous perfume that had seemed innocuous enough in the department store. Instead, her thoughts spinning, she simply sat on the edge of the double bed, fingers skimming the hobnailed bedspread, and stared out the second-story window at the profusion of flowering fruit trees in Mr. Liebowicz’s tiny backyard. It had been spring then, as well, she remembered, when she’d last visited the Detroit area with her parents, more than twenty years ago—

      On a moan, she cupped her face in her hands. Never, ever before had she done something so…so illogical. Crazy. Rash.

      Her hands dropped to her lap.

      Exhilarating.

      Not that her sense of responsibility had completely deserted her. Once safely away from the airport, she’d made the driver stop somewhere so she could call and leave a message on her grandmother’s private voice mail—Carpathia might be small, but technology-wise, it was cutting edge—telling her she was safe and not to blame Gyula, who had been undoubtedly tearing apart the airport by that point, and that if Baba needed her, to contact her via e-mail.

      She spotted the phone jack on the opposite wall where she could plug in her modem. So she could check her e-mail anytime she liked….

      Sophie blew out a sigh. She truly loved her country, as well as the power for good her position gave her. It wasn’t that she wanted to give up what she had. She didn’t. It was just…just that, somewhere along the way, she’d lost herself